synopsis: going back to ilia is a bad idea. you do it over and over again anyways. (3.7k)
warnings: SMUT, piv, oral(f), fingering, unprotected and also intoxicated sex, position is questionably physically possible cause ilia isn’t that big, possessiveness, toxic relationship, not explicitly happy ending, reader has another man’s tongue down their throat sorry not sorry
𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋
your phone had buzzed five minutes ago.
it was still face down on your bedside table, and you were still laying flat on your back, staring at the ceiling above your bed like you had been for the past three hours trying to will yourself to sleep.
with a deep breath, you finally found the courage to sit up and turn it over, tears nearly welting in your eyes when you saw that it wasn’t him who had texted you.
of hurt or of relief, you weren’t sure.
what you were sure of is that you were gonna get over yourself, cause the message you did receive was from your friend.
an invite to go with her and the rest of your group to a bar downtown, drink til you couldn’t remember your name, and hopefully get laid by someone who wasn’t named ilia malinin.
so, even though it was nearing midnight and you’d been trying to sleep for god knows how long, you dragged yourself out of bed and put on a fresh face, styled your hair, and found what was likely the most revealing outfit you owned before stepping out the door and walking a few houses down to where everyone had been pregaming.
when you walked in the door, you were greeted by howls from the group, rapid snaps in place of applause, and a wide smirk from your closest friends
“oh, you came to play” she grinned, dragging you by the wrist to the kitchen island where dirty shot glasses and open bottles laid.
“i have no idea what you’re talking about” you hummed, fingers ghosting the tops of the bottles before you gripped the neck of some fireball and took a swig.
the burn brought tears to the corners of your eyes, and the flavour nearly crawled back up your throat from memories of your last rendezvous with the liquor, but once it all settled, all you could do was grin.
two rounds of kings court beer pong were held before everyone decided it was time to go, and the buzz had barely started hitting you beyond the flush of your cheeks and the decision to put your phone on do not disturb.
so, the first thing you did when you got settled in the bar was make yourself to the bartender, and look around before smiling shyly at him
he smiled back, rinsing out a glass with practiced ease and taking you in while he dried it off, smirking when your eyes drifted to the flex of his forearm while he worked around the inside of the glass
“what can i get for you?” he half-shouted, setting the glass down and tossing the cloth over his bare shoulder like this was some kind of tv show
you hummed, leaning in a little closer and letting your cleavage spill a little out of the top of your shirt before gazing up at him with wide eyes and false innocence.
“what’s your favourite?” you asked, gnawing at your lip and watching as his smile widened while he nodded, turning his back to you while he made the drink.
you were shameless in the way you watched, admiring the way his shoulders moved while he shook the drink, the way his back flexed when he reached for things, the sheen of sweat on his muscle catching in the light.
there was no attempt to mask your staring when he turned back around and flashed you another smile, handing you the drink.
“on the house, gorgeous. and uh, i get off in an hour if you wanna circle back. might stick around for a dance” he winked, fingers grazing yours as you took the glass from him and giggled, walking away without response.
when you made your way to the floor, you made quick work of finding your friend, immediately being met with a shake of a head and a laugh that you returned while putting your back to hers to dance
“did you even bring your wallet?” she yelled, leaning her head back on your shoulder so you could hear her in your ear while you moved back and forth
you responded with a quick shake of your head, a hum of “nuh uh” slipping past pressed lips earning another laugh.
like magic, new glasses would make their way into your hands throughout the night, servers waving you off and nodding in some direction, telling you who was sponsoring your nth drink.
and in about an hour, you’d made your way back to the bar counter while the bartender from earlier tugged his jacket on and smiled at you.
you’d only bitten your lip, eyes tracking him while he made his way around the counter and held out his hand for you
you gripped his wrist, dragging him to the middle of the floor before grabbing his jacket and pulling his chest to yours
he planted his hands on your waist, guiding you into the beat of the song. your noses were nearly touching, his breath fanning on your face softly and the smell of whiskey drifting through it
“i’m jack” he murmured, eyes flicking up to yours with a heat that meant you were definitely getting what you came for
you murmured your name, barely, before crashing your lips into his, feeling him grip you harder and tug your waist to his own.
and just as he was about to slip his tongue past your lips, you felt a tap on your shoulder.
you pulled back reluctantly, and glared not so subtly at your friend when she gave you an awkward grin
“sorry, i-“ she cleared her throat, guilt and a blush coating her face “i couldn’t find anyone else and i don’t want to use the bathroom alone”
she gave you eyes that were buried in urgency, and you knew she wasn’t telling the whole truth, so your eyes flickered up to jack.
you leaned into his ear, murmuring about how you’d be right back, and you kissed below it.
he grinned, vowing to get you another drink while you were gone, watching your hips with a smirk while you walked away from him
the bathroom door was barely closed before your friend started talking, and you were going to scold the shit out of her for potentially chasing away one very pretty bartender, and then you registered what she’d said.
“ilia’s here.” she rushed out, panicked eyes meeting yours.
it was like a splash of cold water to the face, and suddenly the drinks you’d downed on everyone else’s dollar that night felt like they had zero effect on you.
“what?” you said, tone a little sharper than you intended.
“ilia’s here. with like some college friends or something. and i’d say you should just leave quietly with whatever god of a man that was, but-“ she paused and your face fell
“but he saw me.” guilt covered her features once more, and she nodded, fidgeting with her rings
“and he doesn’t look like he’s a fan of you trying to move on.” she pursed her lips and you sighed, turning back to stare at the closed door like if you hoped hard enough, he’d just leave.
he wouldn’t, you knew that.
regardless, you turned back around with determination. “okay. fuck, okay i’m gonna leave,” you nodded, situating yourself.
“yeah, no, okay, i’ll round everyone up and get charlie to bring the car arou-“
“no.” you cut her off and she furrowed her eyebrows
“i’m leaving with jack. i dont care what ilia has to say anymore, i cant keep doing this” you sighed, and before she could try to stop you, try to convince you that maybe tonight wasn’t the night to try this, you were gone.
out the door and searching the crowd for the man who’d been keeping you company, just to find that he was nowhere to be found.
you leaned against the wall between the dance floor and the bathroom hallways, carding a hand through your hair with frustration and tears threatening to spill.
you blinked for barely a second and then-
“who was that?”
you froze.
you knew his voice anywhere, like it was engraved in your brain for the rest of time.
“his name is jack. where is he, what did you do,” you accused, turning to look at him with nothing but disdain and a bit of glass to your eyes
“his shift is over. he’s going home.” he said, so casually it made your head spin. what the hell was his problem.
you breathed out through your nose, trying to walk by him, but his hand was on your wrist and he was pulling you into a bathroom before you could even blink
“fuck off, malinin” you practically hissed, turning around to try and make your escape, but he knew you, and he was in your way by the time the thought to run even crossed your mind
“ilia. let me go.” you demanded, trying to push past him and instead feeling his hand on yours, clasping your wrists together and pinning you to the door with his hips, hands held high above your head.
you only clenched your jaw, glaring at him like it would make any difference, like he wasn’t enjoying every second of this act, of this lie you were trying to tell that made it seem like you weren’t exactly where you wanted to be, like you didn’t love this game.
he only smiled softly at you, one hand leaving your wrists to cup your face, thumb the material of your shirt. you tried to fight against the one hand left, to no avail.
“this is cute” he murmured, hand trailing down your waist and hip, picking up the edge of your skirt and nodding to it
“who were you trying to show off for, hm?” he blinked down at you, and you gulped
“i told you. his name’s jack.” you bit, like you wanted to spit on him for even being in your presence
he repeated the name, mouth turning down like the word tasted bitter on his tongue. then, he just shook his head
“mh. i don’t think so” he whispered, eyeing the outfit like a man starved, hand brushing against the bare skin of your thigh, the limb nearly lifting into his arm and around his hip from muscle memory alone
he felt the twitch, smirking softly.
“no, i think part of you hoped you could just come here, take some pictures, post them on your instagram for me,” he said, licking his lips
“for me to see, so that you could remind me what i was missing.” he continued, and you scoffed.
“that’s a little cocky coming from the guy who’s tongue wasn’t just down my throat” your eyes flicked to the side, towards the rest of the bar, the rest of the world that seemed to disappear when it was just the two of you.
you knew he’d seen. you knew it pissed him off. he was never very good at sharing, especially not you.
his tongue poked the inside of his mouth and he nodded, last three fingers dancing around your wrist with question.
“i’m gonna let these go, are you gonna behave?” he asked, condescending and mean and just the tone that made you melt into a pile beneath him every fucking time.
you shrugged “no promises” and he smiled, pulling his hand from yours and letting your arms fall. before you could shove him, or slap him, or punch his teeth out, for that matter, his hands were on your hips, lifting you above him with a chuckle of pure satisfaction when your legs hooked around him in surprise
his nose brushed your forehead, lips meeting the crevice of your eyebrow so gently, you nearly forgot why you were so against this, against him.
and when he pressed his forehead to yours, lips barely an inch away from your own, your eyes fluttered shut.
to ilia, that was an invitation. he grabbed your lower lip between his own, smile unmaskable against your mouth when you kissed back, sighing into him like he was oxygen and you’d been suffocating for weeks.
his tongue swiped into your mouth, body pressing your own harder against the door and arms wrapping below your thighs to carry you over to the sink, setting you down with a gasp when you pulled his shirt to get him closer
and then your fingers twitched, and you pulled away. shaking your head.
“we can’t do this, ilia. it’s a bad idea” he only smirked
“yeah but you’re having the time of your life, aren’t you?” and with your last plea to the gods that you could leave him, you placed your hands against his chest.
you rummaged through your pocket, bringing out a quarter and showing it to him, earning a raise of his eyebrow
“we let fate decide if this keeps going” you gulped, meeting his eyes and urging yourself not to throw the coin at the wall when his pupils were blown with lust, when you saw the sheen of spit on his kiss bitten lips.
you cleared your throat “heads we do this, tails we don’t” you nodded and he chuckled, shaking his head.
“how about, heads we go to yours, tails we go to mine” he stepped closer again, keeping eye contact while his palms soothed over the tops of your thighs.
you let out a shaky breath, no argument before you flipped the coin, watching as it bounced to the corner of the wall and ricocheted, getting lost in the depths of the room.
your eyes blew wide, to you, a sign that you definitely shouldn’t do this. but then he smiled, leaned into your ear
“guess that means i’m taking you right here, then,” he hummed, legs hitting the counter while he dragged you closer, ignoring your worried whisper of his name while his mouth found yours again.
and you couldn’t. couldn’t will him away anymore, not when you were so enthralled, not when his mouth was claiming you like you belonged to him, definitely not when his hands slid up under your shirt and his thumb slid so gently under the strap of your bra before he unhooked it
so you just gave in. every part of you, hips rolling to get closer to him, fingers tangling into his hair, then dragging down his back, then tugging at the hem of the mesh shirt he knew drove you insane
you were whining into his mouth like he hadn’t put you through the wringer, like he wasn’t the reason for too many breakdowns, benders and missed assignments.
his hands gripped you so tight it was almost territorial, his mouth only drifting from your own to kiss down your neck and shoulder, using his nose to brush your unclasped bra off one shoulder
and then he bit. sunk his teeth into delicate skin in a way that made you whimper, curl your hands back into his hair. maybe to pull him off, maybe to keep him there.
you sighed shakily when he sucked on the spot, blinking rapidly in some sort of euphoric shock that nobody else could bring you.
“ilia-“ you started, a soft tug on his curls telling him it probably wasn’t the greatest idea to mark you full of him in a bar bathroom, but he just huffed against the curve of your neck, sucking harder.
then he moved down, digging his hands into your hair now, pulling your head to the side for better access, teeth nipping at your neck, shoulder, and then the top of your tits, cause why else would they be exposed for him?
his fingers were hooked into the waist of your skirt by the time his mouth made its way back to yours, tongue claiming you again while he all but ripped your bottoms off, fingers dancing around your folds and his moan vibrating in your mouth when he felt how wet you were.
“knew it” he mumbled, curling a finger into you, his thumb making tight circles on your clit.
“you fucking love this,” he pulled his hand away, only spitting on his fingers before giving them back to you, his eyes hooded and glossed with greed when you whined, head tilting back against the mirror just perfectly for him to see the shine of where his tongue had been on your skin
“tell me.” he prodded another finger inside you, curling them upward while his heart beamed at the way you cried out, a hand reaching down to grip his wrist while you nodded absentmindedly
“i love it, i love it, i, aah. fuck, ilia” you squirmed, and he peeled your hand away from his wrist, kneeling on the ground to meet your clit with his tongue, groaning into you as the taste hit his tongue
your thighs clamped around his head, hand gripping his hair to keep his nose smooshed into your clit when his tongue explored lower, prodding into your entrance along with his fingers, that were still curling against spots that made you see stars.
“ilia,” you cried, desperate for him, so, so, gone that even if this was what’s his face the bartender, you’d be crying for ilia anyways.
he had you trapped in this cycle
and for good, good reason.
when he felt it, the flutter of your core around that always told him you were teetering right on the edge, he pried your thighs apart and pulled away.
“no, no, ilia please-“ you looked up at him sadly when he stood back up, reaching for him. his hands, anything that could replace the stimulation he just ripped away at the last second
“shh, kisa.” he kissed you softly, the nickname he’d give you oh so long ago making you mind go numb, a slow nod following and receiving a soft smile
he cupped your face, thumb pulling your lip down and watching it bounce back into place “so pretty, kisa” he mumbled, pecking your lips again before he lifted you off the counter and turned you around, ridding you of your shirt and bra while you looked at yourself in the mirror
you were ruined. hair frizzy and parted in all sorts of directions, makeup melted and smudged, lips red and swollen.
but it didn’t matter when ilia’s hand came up and tweaked the peaks of your nipple, other hand grabbing your jaw and turing your head.
you whimpered at the sight of the side of your neck, covered in splotchy, still wet purple love bites that you’d never be able to hide.
he looked into your eyes through the mirror, licking his lips.
“mine.” he stated, parting your legs with his knee before slipping inside you without warning, burying himself to the hilt and earning a squeal from your lips.
“hm?” he hummed, and kissed your shoulder, placed his hand on top of the one you had gripping the counter with a gentleness that would never be fucking you in a bathroom mirror. “you’re mine, yeah?”
and before you could even answer, his hips rolled into yours at that slow, determined pace that always tore you apart.
every thrust heavy and hard, but with a drag that made it impossible not to feel every ridge of him inside you.
“ngh. yours, m’ yours, ilia,” you moaned, and he smiled against your shoulder, peppering more sweet kisses there while he lifted you against him by the waist, protecting your hip bones from slamming against the edge of the counter
“good girl,” he cooed softly, thumb running against the lower half of your stomach where he bulged every now and then from the angle he was at.
you tried to put a hand over your mouth and he immediately ripped it off, shaking his head.
“no, kisa. sound so pretty on my cock, hm? just enjoy it” he whispered, punctuated by one particularly rough thrust that had you crying out, knuckles turning white against the counter
“there she is, atta girl,” he huffed, feeling the way you clenched around him and moaning right into your ear
“so fucking good” he gasped, tightening his grip around your waist.
and all you could do was mime him, murmuring a “so good” behind the cries of pleasure that he was pulling out of you.
“yeah? y’ getting close, baby?” he asked, nipping at your ear and smirking when you nodded violently, hand gripping the forearm that was around you.
“ilia” you gasped, nails digging in while you started to fall apart in his arms, crying out his name repeatedly, stuttering at the new, sped up pace of his hips while he tried to ruin you
your mouth fell open and you fell silent, only shaky breaths and whiney gasps tumbling out of your mouth as you gushed around him, felt him slow down, felt the warmth of his cum panting your walls.
you were both breathless, panting heavily while he held you close, looking up at you through the mirror to see your mascara running down your cheeks and your face still contorted in pure bliss. you brought your extra hand back to the counter, eyes finally fluttering open to look at him
“oh my god.” you breathed out. “you’re such a dick.” he only chuckled, smirking softly
“you love it.” he let go of your waist slowly, bracing you against the counter while he pulled out, hissing at the cool air and the sensitivity.
he pulled his pants back up, going over to the paper towel dispenser and eyeing the ground, smiling.
the shine of the coin caught his eye and he picked it up, keeping it flat on one palm while he dampened the towel and cleaned your thighs.
“heads. guess we’re going to yours.” he whispered, winking at you in the mirror.
you swallowed. remembering your utterance of ‘heads we do this’.
he didn’t seem to notice the thought dawning on you, only pulled your panties and skirt on for you gently.
“is the key still under the mat?” he asked, carding a hand through your hair and kissing your nose.
𝓸r ── .✦ ilia malinin has been your pride and joy your entire life. he was the boy who infiltrated it almost instantly. and somewhere between childhood and adulthood, the line between friends and more blurred. you explored every first together, and that included your first olympic appearances. though for ilia, the experience carried a weight neither of you could have predicted. for a moment, fear got the best of him, and with you by his side, he showed the world what that was like.
⟢ 𝓻achel: i got a request for reader to be there while he works through fear and got severely carried away and yes, this took me many many days to write because it had to be perfect...but i hope you all enjoy because i'm kinda attached to them now </3 all things aside i'm still thinking of fear daily because wow that was incredible. happy reading!
── tags below the cut .ᐟ
𝓬ontent: implied sex, established relationship, childhood friends to lovers dynamic, mental health themes, comfort, fluff, ilia is whipped with a capital w, nf pls hmu i love the fear ep
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
For as long as you could remember, Ilia was a steady presence in your life.
He'd been a part of it since the days of scraped knees and dirt-covered fingernails, when the sun seemed to set at the perfect hour, and the smell of freshly-cut grass wafted into the air with the gentle summer breeze. When your largest worry was whether you could run fast enough to catch the ice cream truck before it drove away, laughing when Ilia would trip over a small dip in the pavement.
You remembered spending every possible minute with him, down to the nights you'd beg your parents to let him stay for dinner.
"Pleaaaase, Mom?" you would beg, tugging at the edge of her sleeve as she stood over the stove, a boiling pot of water emitting steam into the air. "Just for tonight. Ilia loves pasta!"
And of course, she would oblige, because — much like most of your family — she loved your best friend. Over time, he'd become a second child to her, much like you'd become Tatiana's honorary daughter (until Liza was born, and you were bumped to eldest daughter).
During the cold winters, your mother would bundle you up in your favorite baby pink coat and matching scarf and send you off with Ilia and his parents, who would drive you two to the ice rink. Of course, Ilia's perfect genes made skating feel like walking.
And, well — you fell more times in one session than you had fingers. But with time, and the careful coaching of Tatiana and Roman, you'd finally gathered your footing. Ilia would watch from the sidelines, thick-lensed glasses perched on his nose (with a small crack in the corner from one of the times they'd fallen off), smiling proudly.
What was nothing more than a childlike bond morphed into something deeper, blooming in your teens through stares that lingered a beat too long and touches in passing that felt too intimate to be platonic.
As your relationship developed, so did Ilia's growing spotlight. It started small, at first. A short interview after a competition, usually, and maybe a four-minute YouTube video essay about the up-and-coming son of two former Olympians.
The narrative shifted when Ilia was seventeen. He'd made figure skating history as the first to land a Quad Axel in competition. As the person who'd stood by through every misstep and fall, even holding ice on his bruised knees for hours straight while he rambled on about his mistakes with the television humming softly in the background, you watched with sparkling eyes that could've lit up the venue if the lights had suddenly gone out.
You thought then that you would never be so proud of someone again.
"Ilia, oh my god," you boasted when he finally walked up to you, his costume's bright colors peeking out from beneath his half-zipped navy blue jacket.
He carefully wrapped his arms around your waist. You stepped into his hold, sighing into the softness of his chest. He smelled of spandex and a hint of fresh sweat. It was almost comforting.
"I couldn't have done it without you."
His voice was gentle as he murmured the sentiment into your hair. You laughed quietly, melting deeper into his chest as the crowd noise faded into static behind you.
"Sweet, but that's not true."
"It is."
"Is not."
You pulled back to look at him, expecting the typical lighthearted expression he'd wear. You were met with something harder, which made you uncomfortable when your eyes caught it.
"When I'm too in my head…I look at you, and it all goes away." He lifted a hand and spread his fingers, "Poof."
The air suddenly felt thicker, as if his words emptied a weight you weren't prepared for. And they had. Because you knew Ilia. He never said things he didn't mean.
"…You mean…"
"Haven't I made it obvious that I like you?"
The words landed like a rock on thin ice. They cracked the resolve you'd carefully constructed to shield yourself with denial. To keep yourself from becoming irrational.
This was Ilia — not some boy from school. You had everything to lose with him, and it kept you up some nights, when you would stare heavily at the photo of you and him at your first competition and think. A medal was slung around your neck, and Ilia was holding your flowers so the camera could see both.
That's who he always was. The sweet, caring, thoughtful boy you grew up with, who would go to war for you, if he had to. Even if it started as a brotherly instinct. Even if, along the way, it became a different form of love that he wanted to learn to navigate.
"Do you mean it?"
"You know I do."
A crew member brushed past you with a soft excuse me, but it didn't break the shared gaze. The careful way Ilia's eyes studied your face for a reaction. Hoped for the answer he craved.
Your head curled back into the comforting support of his chest, cheek brushing the USA patch beside the zipper.
"I like you, too, Ilia."
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
The transition from friends to more was gradual. A careful shift that you agreed to take your time with. It moved at a slow pace until things began to feel natural, reaching milestones sometimes weeks apart, though you wouldn't have wished for it go any other way.
The first came two weeks after Ilia's little confession. You were sitting together on his front steps, munching on a shared Hershey's chocolate bar you'd broken in half. The sky was clear, stars shining so brightly that you could have mistaken the sight for a painting.
Ilia had cracked some stupid, corny joke — you playfully wiped the melted chocolate on his pants and left a sticky fingerprint. He yanked your hand away in feigned offense, but he didn't let go.
Instead, as he scanned your face for silent permission, he let his fingers slip between yours, trapping the collected warmth between your palms.
You stayed that way for the following twenty minutes, until his mother called him inside and asked you to get home safely.
The first time Ilia kissed you wasn't too long after. It wasn't grand, either.
He was driving with the windows rolled all the way down, the warm summer breeze blowing in as you listened to quiet music. The car came to a slow halt at a red light.
Ilia leaned over and pecked your lips unceremoniously. Your eyes were wide with shock, but his expression was so sure, even if you'd absolutely hated it. Realization washed over you quicker than the shock came, and your lips curved into a soft smile. The kind that made his heart leap in his chest.
You leaned back in to kiss him again — this time sure of yourself, too. It was slow and awkward, teeth bumping as you worked together to figure it out. It was horrible, and it was perfect.
Neither of you pulled away until the car behind you leaned on its horn. The light had been green for nearly ten seconds, and you hadn't moved an inch. You both jumped, Ilia's foot immediately switched to the gas pedal, and you laughed out the window, the full kind that came from your chest; you'd never been so happy.
Every day that passed felt as natural as that moment — you were just yourselves, and you loved each other just as you were. Ilia was never someone you had to be someone else for.
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
Fame crept into your entwined lives when you least expected it. It appeared like something rotten stored in the back of a cabinet — unnoticeable, but there, until the smell eventually left the captivity of the closed door, and you'd have no choice but to confront it.
It was something you vowed to navigate together. And while you enjoyed the attention, interacting with followers on the internet and reposting stupid videos of yourself, Ilia couldn't say the same.
It wasn't just attention. It was a blinding spotlight that followed his every move.
And it was eating him alive.
But you never left his side. Some days came with a sharp edge, when you'd sit against the headboard on Ilia's bed while his head rested on your shoulder. His legs would ache from the nonstop training — failed attempts that resulted in bruises and shallow cuts in fragile skin.
The room would be quiet, save for the hum of the heater kicking on to keep the temperature comfortable. You'd kiss the crown of his head. Whisper a gentle I love you into his hair, just to remind him. To let him know that it was true, no matter what happened that day, or any day after.
There wasn't an exact moment that cemented your importance in Ilia's life. You'd always been there, through his best and worst. But now, as the weight of the world was slowly being placed on his shoulders, you were everything.
Some days, he needed you to breathe.
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
"I was thinking of doing Fear."
He announced it as you scrolled mindlessly through your phone on the bed next to him, thighs brushing one another. You didn't look up, but you responded.
"For what?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "It's just…really hard to deal with all this. And I want to show it."
You placed the phone face down on the mattress. "I think it's a nice idea," you told him, lowering your palm gently on his knee. "You know I'll support you no matter what."
He rested the side of his head on your shoulder. Your hand rubbed a circular pattern into his knee. His hair brushed the side of your neck, soft and familiar; you smiled, leaning into him.
"Thank you. For being here."
"Always," you whispered, and you meant it.
Ilia was always the steady presence in your life. The light at the end of the tunnel that showed you what it meant to live, to love. And lately, you've had to remind him, because through everything, he'd almost forgotten.
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
"Did you guys finish mapping it?"
You stood between his legs, fingers carefully tying a folded bandana around his forehead. You brushed a few strands of hair out of the way, trying not to get them caught.
"Yeah," he nodded, "but I don't think it will be ready any time soon. I haven't brought it to the ice, yet, so…I'm not sure how it will translate."
You kissed the tip of his nose.
"I'm sure it'll be perfect, no matter what."
Ilia stepped forward and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you snugly into his chest. His necklaces pressed against your cheek as you nuzzled into his nylon shirt. The material still smelled like the faint spritz of the new cologne he'd insisted on spraying earlier that morning.
It was warm and sweet, with a hint of something fresh, familiar — the perfect combination of everything that reminded you of him.
His chin rested on the top of your head.
"How are you always so positive?" he asked softly, swaying back and forth as a cool breeze drifted in when someone walked through the rink door.
"Someone has to be, right?"
"But you're always so…good at it."
You looked up, chin pressing into the valley of his chest. When his gaze met yours, your heart fluttered in your chest; he was so beautiful. Absolutely perfect. And he was yours.
"Because I love you." You leaned in to peck his lips, soft and sure, like the first time Ilia had in his old car. "And that makes me happier than I'll ever have to be."
His neck craned to capture your lips again. A soft brush that deepened when his arms pulled you closer. A low hum transferred into your mouth just before you pulled back.
"C'mon," you whispered, "let's go see that program."
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
It was mid-July when Ilia's schedule was sparse enough to polish the program.
You would accompany him to training sessions, warming up yourself with a few laps and sequences. And once you were done, you'd sit with the bags and shoes and watch. He'd fall into a rhythm. Work through the motions, the sequences, the music.
This routine was different; you saw it in his eyes.
It was personal. It was raw. It was him.
Sure, his competition programs reflected him — his voice was even featured in his latest — but none delved into his head this way.
Even in its incomplete state, you felt the pain spark in your chest.
"It's already looking great," you encouraged when he skated over.
He popped open the water bottle you'd been guarding. Gulped down a sip as a bead of sweat formed on his forehead and dripped onto the ice.
"It's decent," he shrugged. "But it isn't complete."
"It doesn't have to be finished to be good, Ilia."
He shrugged, and you shook your head, laughing as you lifted a hand to ruffle his hair. You ushered him back to center ice and resumed your spot on the bleachers, watching intently for the rest of the session.
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
Months later, through various practices and competitions, it was finally complete. And it would be all the more painful now, despite the number of times you'd already watched it.
You found it difficult not to stare with every run-through.
Fingers mimicked a phone. Arms shielded him from spotlights. A collapse midway through.
It wasn't just a program. It was a story.
Ilia's.
You didn't know when he planned to show it to the world. He'd toyed with the notion, yet he seemed unsure. If it would be too much, or not enough, or something people wouldn't care to see. If the whole thing was a doomed idea from the start.
But you reassured him, reminding him of the sentiment he'd always told you in your moments of weakness.
"All athletes go through this," he would say. "It's important to show people that, to speak up on it."
And even if it was barely a fraction of what he was dealing with, you knew that story all too well. Most days, you couldn't even imagine the mental turmoil, even with your own experiences. But for you, as long as he was there, you knew that you would be okay — the same couldn't be said for Ilia.
Spotlights; flashing cameras; headlines; social media posts; endless news outlets with every angle of every step out and mistake and fall. World records. Pressure.
"The favorite."
Having you in his life was the only thing keeping Ilia grounded, even if it didn't show; you had no idea how much you meant to him. None at all.
And you were the reason that Fear would touch broadcasted ice, one day.
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
The arena was packed to the brim with fans when the Olympic skaters were introduced. You had already been announced when Ilia's name echoed through the crowd, a series of claps and applause following the noise before he stepped out of the hallway and onto the ice.
You stood carefully beside Roman, but your eyes weren't focused on anything other than your boyfriend. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he'd looked thrilled; it made your heart soar in your chest.
As he stepped off, someone slipped the white USA jacket over his shoulders, and he shrugged it on. The crowd buzzed with excitement as he took his place on the podium. Delivered the sweetest interview while his eyes flitted over to you every few seconds. Just to remind himself that you were there too.
He pridefully slipped the Olympic baseball cap on when they handed it to him, smiling brighter than you'd seen since you were still teenagers.
You remembered four years ago — Beijing, how he'd begged, stripped his body to the bone to make the team. Worked tirelessly to no avail when they told him with finality that he wouldn't be going.
Today, he was happy; you were so proud.
The moment his guarded blade touched the foam mat, you ran. The thousands of eyes weren't a threat anymore. Even if just for this small moment. This was yours.
You jumped into his embrace. His laughter buzzed in your ear, loud and unsteady and perfect.
He didn't try to hide because he didn't have to.
Because he loved you more than the spotlight. Or any single fan perched in one of the burgundy arena seats.
Or anyone, really.
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
There you were, in Milan, Italy, with a pair of sunglasses perched on your nose and a large duffel slung over your shoulder, suitcase dragging behind you. Ilia walked closely behind, his own luggage weighing him down as he stumbled in a dramatic display.
"It can't be that heavy," you'd pointed out with a suspicious brow, stopping to let him catch up.
"It is," he countered, but you didn't buy it.
"There is no way you have more in that than I have in mine."
"You don't know that."
It was the casual banter you'd always shared, like finally being in the Olympic village was enough to lift his spirits. And it was, at first — until the pressure began to set in. It was nothing he'd ever experienced before.
You were there for the experience. You weren't going to medal, and that was okay; you just wanted to be there, to prove yourself, and to support Ilia.
Part of you knew this wouldn't be the cake walk a lot of people assumed it would be for him.
Ilia was the gold hopeful — it carried a weight he wasn't prepared to bear, despite the years of torture to reach that point. He was expected to exceed, and with time, you knew it would eventually chip away at him. At his thoughts.
A gradual process that wouldn't hit until it was too late.
And it had.
Maybe a little stronger than either of you had anticipated.
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
"I knew you would pull through. I knew it."
Your white Team USA jacket had become half-unzipped as you jumped happily within Ilia's arms.
His hands tried to stay clasped behind your back, sweat was still dripping down his forehead, and his ears were fogged from the perpetual buzz of the audience during the ceremony, but nothing could wipe the smile off his face.
"I don't know about that."
You shook your head. "You're an Olympic gold medalist, Ilia. You won that shit, team event or not, so you better wear it."
Ilia laughed, and you shoved him, arms folding across your chest. The force threatened his balance, and he huffed a tired breath as he walked away from the hallway chock-full of reporters.
"Come on, let's celebrate," you nudged.
"I'm tired."
"You're always tired."
"Yeah, I know," he replied matter-of-factly, one hand wrapped around your waist with the other perched on his hip. "That's kinda my trademark."
"You're no fun. We're in Milan. This is the Olympics, you know. Not Worlds. Live a little."
"Believe me, I know."
He did know; he'd been gnawing at that fact since the moment he stepped off the plane. And he wouldn't let you see it, but it was already eating away at him. He was able to mask it with the win, but that didn't mean by any stretch of the imagination that it hadn't already cemented itself.
After the excitement of the team event wore off, you finally noticed the fear setting in. The nerves shook him by the shoulders. Not enough to crumble. Just a jolt.
The strike of a match that burned near the wick, but hadn't yet caught. Just there. Just present.
Just enough.
It burned through his short program. He let it. The 108.16 placed him at the top.
That night, you were in his dorm. Knees pressed together. Air thick, but not tense. Just heavy, with the weight of something unspoken.
Your hair was still wet from the shower. You borrowed a pair of pants, despite the growing mound of sponsorships in your own dorm (which, in all fairness, you were never really in).
"You were perfect out there," you smiled.
"Finally."
You laughed quietly, leaning your head onto his shoulder. "As if Ilia Malinin ever makes mistakes."
"I do."
"Not big ones."
"Not yet."
Your lips pressed a gentle kiss into the side of his neck. Another just below his jaw. The corner of his mouth when his head turned to look at you. His face was drawing closer, so slowly that it was barely noticeable.
"Day by day," you affirmed as you always had, voice soft at the edges. "Take this win today, chase the next tomorrow."
His mouth landed firmly on yours, his palm ghosting carefully over your waist. He took the cue to pull you comfortably in his lap when you inched a little closer.
It wasn't soft, but it wasn't bruising — rather insistent, like a release of adrenaline still circulating through his body. His thumb rested over your pulse point, feeling the intense heartbeat beneath his touch.
He wanted the release; he needed the calm reassurance. He was sick of hearing words of encouragement and reading headlines with his name in bold letters.
All he needed was the sweet, wordless praise you offered.
It wouldn't lead to anything — you were both tired, and Ilia's mental state was far too fragile for you to pursue anything more in good conscience.
But for those few quiet minutes, with his fingers tentatively brushing the skin below your hoodie, you felt free.
Of the stress, of the upcoming skates, of the eyes following your every move.
It felt nice.
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
First placement was like standing at the top of a mountain. Above everyone else, the air thinner, a little cooler. Where safety was nothing but an illusion and could falter with the smallest slip of an ankle. Tumble down at the drop of a hat.
So fast that you could miss it.
But it would still happen.
The inevitable crash.
Eighth place.
Your face was frozen in a state of absolute shock. You'd arrived at the free skate alone, too afraid and bundled with nerves to sit alongside another person.
As he gave Mikhail a congratulatory hug, you sat with your hands over your mouth.
Your head could barely form a thought amid the swirl of confusion and disappointment.
You were horrified for him. Because, as much as you stayed at his side with your full, unwavering support, it hadn't been enough.
The attention had gotten to him. The eyes. The expectations. The overwhelming pressure.
Ilia looked ruined.
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
The hallway had finally fallen dull; reporting voices faded, the flash of cameras halted, and heat left with the bodies of temporary inhabitants.
You pushed past the exiting crowd with hesitation. Your eyes were looking forward, but your head was somewhere else — thinking of him, ignoring everyone else, disregarding the offended gasp when you bumped into someone.
You caught the distant glimpse of dirty blonde hair, and your feet dealt with the rest.
In a blur, you were stepping up to him, tapping his shoulder, and pulling him into your arms like second nature. He melted into your hold; you felt his body sigh against yours.
"Oh, Ilia," you whispered into his hair, flattening your palm over the back of his head and urging his chin to your shoulder.
"I fucked it up."
"I know, I know."
Your lips brushed the crown of his head; his hair was flat from pushing it back, still a little damp at the root.
"It's okay. You're okay. Everything is fine."
"I let it get to me," he muttered. "When I got out there, I — I tanked."
Roman glanced over from behind him. He tilted his head, as if to ask, "Is he okay?"
You offered a soft nod. He will be.
He turned around to grab his things and gave a soft wave as he walked away. He knew Ilia would be in better hands; maybe he didn't want to see him right then, anyway.
You lifted from Ilia's shoulder and pulled back, slipping your palm up to his cheek.
"Ilia, look at me."
He turned.
"You know that one performance doesn't define you."
He shrugged.
"You haven't lost in over two years," you continued softly, running your thumb along the expanse of his cheek, rosy from the brisk rink air. "Fourteen times. Today…It doesn't make any of that go away."
His eyes drifted shut as he nodded slowly. He was listening — just drained. And he knew you wouldn't accept any of what he wanted to say, even if he had tried to speak.
"Come on," you told him softly as your hand left his face in favor of his lower back, "get changed, and we'll head back."
As you walked down the near-empty corridor, your free hand patted the center of his chest. The contact loosened his muscles; you felt them relax beneath your fingertips. He mumbled about every little mistake as if he'd been replaying the skate over and over in his head like a tape that wouldn't pause.
Your heart ached for him — there were only so many assurances you could offer, and you weren't too sure that any of them would help this time around.
On the bus ride back, he murmured about Beijing into your shoulder.
Back in the dorm bed, after a long, scalding hot shower, your arms wrapped around him. His body pressed heavily into yours, head lying carefully on your chest. Exhaustion laced his features — both mental and physical.
Your fingers carded softly through his hair just the way he liked it, fingertips brushing against and soothing his scalp.
"Day by day, Illie," you whispered as he slowly drifted off, your breath eventually lulling him to sleep.
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
The following day passed in a strange blur of caution and masked disappointment. Ilia's media availabilities had been promptly cancelled to give him space. A little room to breathe that he desperately needed.
The weight gradually lifted as the week dragged along. Once he was back on the ice, things got a little easier.
You sat on the small bed with your arms pressed together the night before your free skate. You'd practiced a little yourself that morning, while Ilia trained for the Gala. It was a tiring day for both of you.
And, as if on cue, you knocked on his door just when he needed the reminder to breathe.
"You don't have to be strong right now," you told him as his head landed on your shoulder, the tips of his hair grazing the side of your neck. "You have every right not to be."
"I did it to myself."
"That shouldn't make it any less painful."
Your arm snaked around his back and pulled him further into your side. He swallowed as your hand rubbed the side of his arm soothingly.
"You don't have to be Ilia Malinin with me," you whispered. "Just Ilia. I fell in love with him. Not the medalist."
He closed his eyes and listened to your voice, offering a nod at your sappy words.
And the next day, he didn't have to be anyone but your biggest supporter.
Ilia insisted that watching you skate made all the difference in his mood. You scoffed, saying it should take a lot more than that to eliminate the pain of a very public, very inflicted loss.
But it was true, as much as the reverse. He adored watching you just as much as you loved watching him.
The sound of your blades scuffing resurfaced ice, your light pink and green dress flowing at your waist as you spun, your tightly-curled hair cascading down your back.
A clip of Ilia cheering circulated around the internet; him jumping out of his seat, yelling, urging the people around him to cheer for his girlfriend, too. Because he would've been damned to let you go unnoticed just because you weren't going to medal.
You gracefully delivered your bows, smiling outwardly at the audience — you were simply elated to have skated on real Olympic ice. You didn't care about anything else.
You could have tumbled, and you probably would have been just as happy.
But you hadn't; your free skate was flawless, and you felt as if you'd somehow been transported into the clouds, weightless as you skated off the ice and blew endless kisses to the crowd and camera.
Ilia's face contracted the same ear-to-ear smile you wore as he stood in the crowd, still buzzing. You were perfect — you were his.
It was moments like these that reminded him of what he had — what he would never give up, for all the money and medals in the world.
He found you in the corridor just after the event ended. The hallway bustled with people, from skaters to staff to reporters, all looking for Alysa amid the chaos.
Yet Ilia found you first, in the same spot you'd approached him two days earlier, and hoisted you into his arms.
"You were amazing."
You giggled breathily, hands splaying over his back to keep from falling onto the matted floor. "I know," you teased. "I was pretty great."
He kissed the side of your head, lips lingering on your hairline as staff members passed by with setups and equipment, making their way to the ice.
You hadn't seen this version of Ilia in months; it felt like a breath of fresh air.
"I'm so proud of you."
"Then we're both on the same page," you whispered, but he shook his head.
"This isn't about me."
"Right," you affirmed. "It's about us. We skated on Olympic ice, medal or not, and if my memory serves, you're a gold medalist."
"Whatever."
"Stop being so self-deprecating, Ilia." You planted a kiss on his cheek, thankful for the artificial height your skates provided. "You're literally ranked first in the world."
"But,"
"But nothing. Come on, you have sleep to catch up on and a lot of training to do."
You tugged him down the dense corridor by the wrist. Ilia swore he clipped a phone dipping in his direction, and he was fairly certain a video of him being dragged around was going to surface the next day.
Well, at least he'd look happy doing it.
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
"You're gonna do great."
Your fingers fluffed his hair until the front strands framed his face the way you wanted it to. His gray hoodie was bunched underneath his elbows as he tightened his belt around his waist.
"I hope."
"It was the nerves that broke you down, not your ability," you reminded him before stepping back to admire your work. "You spam quad axels like they're singles."
He dropped the sweatshirt and smoothed it over his stomach with flat palms. You internally frowned.
So what, if you wanted to ogle your boyfriend's waist a little more? Couldn't kill a girl for trying.
The thought slipped out of your head when you saw the nervous glint in his eye. The one you recognized instantly, after noting it time and time again over the years. That only appeared when his brain was gnawing on something he hadn't said aloud.
"I have something to prove," he stated plainly.
"I know," as you stepped closer, brushing a spec of something unidentified off his shoulder, "but that's what will make it that much better. Show them what you're made of. Tell them you're not going anywhere."
Your chin nudged the valley of his chest; his hands came around to your waist. "They don't know what it feels like to be in your position. I don't even know. So give them a reason to shut their mouths and leave you alone."
"Do you always know what to say?"
"Obviously," you pecked his chest through the thick hoodie.
His fingers flexed at your waist as he craned his neck. A faint grin played on his mouth with his eyes zeroed on your lips.
"Ah, ah," you tsked, "not yet."
"I can't kiss my girlfriend now?"
"I saw that look."
He'd wear it when he wanted something.
"You can do it all you want after you've performed. Speaking of…I think it's time you head out there, hm?"
He obliged, albeit begrudgingly.
Together, you walked toward the designed archway, where a small circle of people had accumulated. Coaches and staff members, skaters awaiting their performances with zipped jackets and twiddling hands.
You greeted the others sweetly with Ilia's hand still perched on the small of your back; the touch was firm, steady. He wouldn't voice it here, but he just needed something to ground him.
And like that — it was his turn.
You followed closely behind as he carefully toed into the arena. Eyes were so focused on Kaori's skate that no one had yet noticed his arrival.
As her performance came to a close, you clapped happily with a soft smile that she'd noticed as she stepped off the ice. You greeted her with a gentle hug and a warm congratulations as she made her way back to the filled corridor.
Ilia slipped his blade covers off and placed them into your waiting hands. He stole a quick kiss anyway, at which you glared in response.
And left a whispered I love you as he took the ice and perched himself on the edge of the boards.
Then, the first ping of a notification.
Your heart ticked as you sat beside Roman.
The program unfolded slowly. Timid gestures turned to aching glances. Hands pulled at his hair as he mouthed Is this what you wanted? at the camera.
The backflip hit. Crowd noise filtered out the music. He entered a blended sequence of frantic movements, arms flailing at his sides, hands fisting his hair, head shaking. Tension released in a Bauer.
A tear rolled down your cheek somewhere toward the end.
The music stopped, and you rose on impulse. Your heart pounded in your chest. You stood completely still with your hands level at your sides, unable to even lift them to clap.
Tear-brimmed eyes followed his weak movements. A smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Roman met him at the door to hand him the blade covers. You stared.
And of course, he found you.
The embrace was everything he couldn't find the words to say. It was an apology and a thank you wrapped into one warm, all-consuming moment.
His breath stuttered against your shoulder as your hand found the back of his head. Fresh tears cascaded down your face and collected at the corner of your mouth.
You didn't care how many eyes were on you.
You didn't care if you never touched ice again.
The softness of his sweatshirt caressed your body, radiating the warmth from the skin beneath the fabric. The comforting scent of his sweet cologne from the summer etched into the material as if to engulf you with his presence.
The audience faded into obscurity, morphing into a dull hum.
A soft kiss followed, of poured emotion and a timidness that only existed amongst the thousands of watchful eyes. He didn't aim to draw attention; just ached for the warm press of your lips.
"You were perfect," you beamed.
His forehead leaned against yours. Chests just barely touched.
"Couldn't have been without you."
"You said that the first time."
"And I meant it."
You laughed at the absurdity of his claim.
"Oh, hold on." You lifted your hand into the air and spread your fingertips in a bursting motion. "Poof?"
"Now you're getting it," with a grin stretched across his face as he craned his neck to capture your lips again.
༄⋆₊❅.⛸️𓂃.˚৻ꪆ
Walking through the door to his dorm was quiet, a silent agreement established between aligned gazes as the metal clicked shut.
Ilia stepped forward.
He kissed you first with his palms on either side of your face, thumbs tracing circles into the skin until he'd memorized the texture all over again.
Movements were slow and deliberate, messy in execution but purposeful with every gentle drag of a tongue, every part of lips to let a small breath escape.
It was long overdue. The eventual liberation of tension, which had been gradually building up day by day for four excruciating years. Nerves which had pulsed through every vein in Ilia's body until he finally gained the strength to set them to rest. Bared himself to the world.
Your hand moved from his shoulder to his hair, while the other gripped his hoodie's thick fabric like a lifeline. He let a soft noise slip into your mouth, and you pulled him closer.
His hold on you was tight — scared, as if you would disappear if his grip loosened even slightly.
"I'm here," were the first words you whispered with your back pressed to the mattress. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Good."
His voice sounded as if it had been shredded into pieces and only halfway stitched back together.
Layers were shed carefully and tossed to the cold hardwood, skin warm to the touch, limbs tangled together like pieces of a puzzle sliding into place. His cold metal necklaces left a shiver where they touched.
Somewhere in the mix, Ilia had laced his fingers with yours. His thumb brushed the outer shell of your hand as if it was mapping out every detail — or perhaps, just reminding himself you were there.
God, he loved you.
Cool air ultimately swept over warm skin, its thickness dissipating in a gradual descent alongside jaded frames melting into the sheets. Your shared breaths steadied and fell into a quiet rhythm.
Your head rested just below Ilia's collarbone. The warmth from your palm spread through his chest. His hand rested over yours, muffled heartbeat drummed in your ear.
"Sometimes I still think about the day you landed the quad," you mentioned out of the blue. "Before…all of this."
His fingertips skated along your ribs. "Yeah?"
"Mhm," you nodded. "In the blue and pink costume…You were pacing like a madman trying to decide whether to go for it or not."
"It was a hard decision."
"And I told you to, because I knew you would land it."
"Which is another reason I thanked you for."
"And, it led to this," you added happily. "Us. And, y'know, all that in between stuff. Congrats on the million, by the way."
"That was a week ago."
"Then I take it back."
He shook his head and laughed amusedly to himself; the first smile that lit up his face in months, aside from your free skate.
"I think about it, too," he finally added.
Your hand slid up to his jaw, letting his fingers glide down to the outer bend at your elbow.
"I thought you were the prettiest boy in the world that day."
The pad of your thumb ran over one of the moles just below Ilia's nose — traced a path to the corner of his lip.
"You still are."
He smiled.
The two of you stayed that way, fell into calm conversation as your body curled into his. He talked about Worlds coming up in March. Said that he would be training right up to the short, and you guessed that, by association, you'd be accompanying him in that.
You'd pointed to the console sitting below the television set and asked if he was actually going to use it, now that the events were over. He nudged your arm in retaliation — he'd spent enough time distracting himself from you, pressure and all.
And eventually, your eyelids grew too heavy to hold open.
Your head nuzzled into the warmth of his chest. The lingering fragment of coconut still stuck to the skin, carrying the scent you'd now attributed to him.
"You did great tonight, Ilia."
As he breathed through his nose, a light breeze fanned your face. His arms held you a little closer.
"Always my #1."
You thought that day, four years ago, that you could never be prouder of someone.
Yet there you were, proving yourself wrong.
Because Ilia's best was never final; he could only ever be better.
In most people's eyes — especially yours — he was everything. And you'd always be there to remind him.
That no single moment defined him. No mistake determined his ability.
Surely, no eighth-place ranking.
None of what happened erased who he was and what he'd already accomplished. And nothing ever would.
Got really into ice skating and drew some of my favorite ice skaters! I still have so many I want to draw but this is my most recent post from my Insta.
Ilia Malinin’s Olympic Gala was such a powerful performance. You could really tell he pour so much of his heart into it and I like to think it was a good way for him to start his journey forward because it’s truly hard to get back up when you fall. Even so, getting back up can lead to many great things. You’re gonna do great, Ilia, you’ll be flying high soon again!
ILIA BLOWS HIS GF A KISS WHEN HE SEES HER IN THE CROWD 💋💋💋
LOWKEY! One of the VERY FEW things I am truly proud of! This turned out so well that I'm not mad how long it is! | 2.9k of pure romance and tugs at the heartstrings.
You hadn’t been able to travel to Milan and stay for the entirety of Ilia’s Olympics debut, but you had made it a promise to see him in Zurich instead. It had felt like months since you had seen him and the nerves you were experiencing while waiting at the airport were growing stronger with each passing minute.
“I’ll find a way to come get you,” he had said over text. “If something comes up, I’ll let you know ASAP! ┏( ゜)ਊ゜)┛”
You had been sitting outside, watching the coming and going of people in cars for the past half hour. Ilia hadn’t been responding to your messages which had you nervous. The fact that it felt like spring was comforting at least. Still, you were alone in a foreign country trying to suppress a panic attack in public.
Kicking your feet, while you sat on a bench, a black car rolled to a stop in front of you. Keeping your eyes low you tried not to stare at anyone; you weren’t sure if people watching was seen as socially acceptable or not.
“Baby!”
The voice caught your ears instantly; you knew the petname was for you and no one else. There he was, your striking blond loverboy bounding over to you in a hurry.
You stood to greet him as his body slammed into yours with a force that said without words just how much he had missed you. It felt so good to be in his arms again, to touch him. There was a fear that your legs were going to go out from under you.
Ilia’s head went back, before pulling himself away to see your face. “I’ve missed you SO MUCH!”
He returned to holding you, in the back of his mind knowing you both needed to get back to the car, but it was with such strength you almost couldn’t breathe.
“I missed you more,” you whispered, placing a kiss against his cheek, but he had other ideas. The kiss he gave you, melted away every lingering ounce of sadness both of you were still holding onto. It was the kind of kiss you never wanted to end, but unfortunately you would have to wait till later for another.
“Come on, I’m sure you’re tired,” he cooed, taking your hand, and your suitcase in the other. “You can nap while I go to rehearsal."
“That would be nice,” you mumbled, feeling just how tired you were after having to walk even just twenty feet to the car.
“After you,” Ilia smiled before you climbed into the black leather interior. The darkness was comforting to your eyes; airports were always too bright for your liking, especially after as many hours as you've been traveling and waiting.
“Ready?” Asked the man behind the steering wheel after Ilia put your luggage in the trunk. His English was clear with a slight accent if you paid attention. “I didn’t want to rush you. However, they are very strict about cars parked at drop-off.”
Ilia just smiled, “Thank you, this was really appreciated.”
He was holding your hand while he spoke, leaving you to lean your head against his shoulder. You would be asleep long before you got to the hotel. You refused to sleep if you traveled alone. Having to hold out till you were safe with him had been a struggle, but he was with you now and everything was falling into alignment.
-
“Baby,” you heard whispered into your ear, stirring you from the dream you were entwined in. “We’re getting close to the hotel now.”
His hand had slipped between your thighs as you had both of yours wrapped around his arm. Too bad the roadtrip couldn’t last another five hours. You were so comfortable next to him, but the thought of being in bed was worth waking up for. It was just a shame you’d been sleeping alone… at least until later.
With your eyes closed, you’d acknowledge that you had heard him with soft sighs. Eventually, the car came to a stop and Ilia opened the door, letting bright light flood the interior of the darkened car. Like a bad hangover, you winced against the sharp pain behind your eyes.
After a few seconds, you found your footing and stepped out. Ilia continued talking to the driver while you looked around the bustling downtown atmosphere. All you caught from their conversation was that he would wait for Ilia for about fifteen minutes before taking him to the arena.
After the goodbyes, and thank yous, he shut the door and returned his attention to you.
“Come on, Princess,” he still whispered so only you could hear it, pushing your suitcase along while you clung to him like a lifeline. “I’m going to get you upstairs but then I have to be going again. I’m going to be late as it is. I’m sorry.”
“Did I make you late?” Your voice wavered, instantly feeling full regret over making him come get you.
Ilia looked upset, “No! You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just having a rare off day where I’m late from the start. I couldn’t text you on the drive over because I left it upstairs. I’m sorry.”
“I wondered what happened,” you remarked, passing through the sliding doors a step before him. “I was just worried something had happened to you.”
Again, he frowned, digging through his bag for the elevator’s keycard. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t want to make you worry. I overslept and have spent all morning making up for lost time.
The gilded doors parted ways, and Ilia kept his hand on the small of your back, letting you enter first before pressing the seventh floor’s button. Once the doors closed again, Ilia turned towards you, pushing you back into the wall as the elevator ascended. His frantic, desperate kisses woke you up in an instant as your fingers clawed at his jawline. What a shame his room wasn’t on the top floor. You needed this more than you realised.
“I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I couldn’t help it.”
“I didn’t mind,” you giggled, nose-to-nose with him before the seventh floor bell rang. “It was nice…and unexpected.”
Ilia blushed, looking down and away for a second before breaking into a little laugh of his own. “Come on, I’ve pestered you enough.”
“If that’s pestering, then you have permission to do it all the time,” you gave a snort as his blush deepened.
Ilia’s room was at the end of the hall, and it had a beautiful view of the streets below. Just a single queen bed inside and his luggage strewn everywhere. Costumes were laid over chairs, all of his Olympic uniforms looked like they had exploded out of his suitcase like an April Fool’s prank.
“I’m going to need you to help me repack these sometime. I don’t know how I got them in there in the first time. I think Max had to sit on them so I could zip them!”
You laughed, picking up the cream coloured coat from its draped location.
“I loved you in this. Everything they gave you was so nice,” you told him, before he took it from you only to help you put it on.
“Why don’t you wear it then?”
“But it’s yours,” you replied, eyebrows pulled in.
Ilia just smiled so softly at you, “And if I ever want to wear it, I’ll ask to borrow it.”
He wrapped his arms low around your waist as your hands rested against his chest. The room was silent, only the sounds of your breathing could be heard. You knew he had to leave; he knew you didn’t want him to, but time was ticking down.
“I don’t want to go,” he confessed, sighing deeply.
“Me either, but I’ll see you later.” Nothing you could say would fix how either of you were feeling, but you had to try. You gave him one more quick kiss before separating.
“I promise I’ll keep in touch. Oh!” He exclaimed, seeing his phone peeking out of the folds of the white duvet. “I guess I threw it down and assumed I had it. Seriously, I’ll send you all sorts of messages to wake up to. Please, get some rest.”
His lips against your forehead made your eyes flutter closed. You just wanted him to stay a little longer but it felt like he was already halfway out the door.
“Get some rest, okay?” Ilia pleaded, “I’d like to take you to dinner after the gala.”
Your heart swelled, “I’d like that a lot.”
Before he said anything else, a smirk inched across his lips, “Wear something pretty for me?”
Blush rushed to your cheeks now, “I had planned on it.”
“Good,” he giggled, giving you one final kiss before turning to leave. “If you need anything, just go through my stuff, or if you want anything, there’s some money…somewhere, I don’t know where I stashed it.”
You thanked him, returning the look of warning he was giving you with his hand upon the door.
“Just one more?” He asked with a deep pout.
You knew what he meant and obliged. Stepping towards him, Ilia put his hand into your hair as your lips found his. It was like you were living your own personal romance novel. It was a dream.
“I love you,” you both said at the same time, causing soft laughter before Ilia made his goodbyes and you your good luck wishes.
“I’ll be looking for you,” he said with a wink before closing the door.
Now alone in his hotel room, wearing one of his Olympic coats, you wanted to cry. You had him for a minute then he was gone. Off to his obligations, made late because of you, regardless of what he had told you. The feeling was terrible but you had to live with it.
With a sigh, you’d carefully remove Ilia’s coat and return it with the others. He was right: you did need to rest, but it would have to wait till after a hot bath. Too many hours around strangers in cram-packed planes; you wanted the reset.
-
You knew you were tired, but you hadn’t anticipated sleeping through all four of your alarms like you had. Wearing nothing but one of Ilia’s hoodies, you were at total peace, comfortable and forgetting you had places to be.
In an instant, you threw off the covers after seeing the time your phone was claiming it was. You were already supposed to have been at the arena! Ilia was the last act of the first, but you had slept nearly two hours after your last alarm.
Ilia had kept his word to send you something to read when you woke up, but they got increasingly more worried the more you read.
“Been gone 5 minutes and I miss you.（；へ：）”
“I can’t want to see you later. I promise I’ll find you.”
“I hope you’re getting some rest. I’ve gotta go run through things in a couple minutes.”
“Rehersal went well; I think you’re going to love the pink lights tonight.”
“I’ve gotta get ready now! Part of me also thinks you’re going to lose your mind over a particular something… (〃ー〃)”
“Baby? Are you awake??? ( 〃．．)”
[Missed call]
“Babyyyyyyyyyyyy, where are youuuuuuuuuuu?” (￣﹏￣)”
“I hope you’re okay.”
“Starting to scare me.”
“Da wants me off my phone for a bit. I love you.”
“Sneaking on here to check in. baby, I’m really worried about you. I don’t want you to miss tonight. </3”
You read them all in a flurry and immediately sent him a voice recording while digging through your makeup, “I’m so sorry! I slept through all of my alarms! I’m hurrying now! I’ll be there in thirty minutes I hope! Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Ilia! I won’t miss this! I feel so bad, I’m so, so sorry! I’ll let you know when I get there if you’re able to still be on your phone!”
There were tears in your eyes as you applied your foundation. You whispered a silent prayer that your setting spray would be enough of a barrier against whatever emotions you would be faced with as the night went on.
With your makeup applied, lash glue trying to set, and Ilia’s favourite perfume dotting your skin, you fastened your shoes and made a frantic exit out of the hotel room. Your Uber was around the corner and you still had seven floors to descend before reaching the lobby.
To say your heart was racing was a joke! It was one more setback away from imploding. Now was not the time to fall apart!
“Hello! Hello!” Your driver greeted you as you slipped into the back seat. You were dressed for a summer event, not Switzerland in February, but you knew that when you had packed the dress. “I hope you won’t be too cold!” He laughed. “To the Hallenstadion, yes?”
“Yes, please!” You knew telling him that you were already late wouldn’t do anything, other than make you come off like you were begging him to run red lights to save five minutes.
“Don’t normally see women dressed up so much for this event. Good for you,” he said, looking at you through the rearview mirror. “Normaly just older women in sweaters.”
His laughter was contagious and managed to make you break into a smile, forcing you to take a breath.
“My boyfriend’s performing tonight; first time I’ve seen him since he left for the Olympics. I kind of wanted to surprise him.”
“Ahhh, an Olympian, huh? Good for you! You must be very proud of him!”
“Very!” You beamed, watching the world pass by beyond your window. “He’s the best.”
The driver just smiled and navigated side streets until the massive complex came into view.
“I hope you enjoy your events, and may he hit all of his landings!”
Folding Ilia’s coat over your arm you thanked him genuinely before hurrying inside the facility. All you hoped was that the first act wasn’t over, meaning you had missed Ilia’s first skate.
With your ticket scanned, you were directed towards the lower levels where one of the event staff was kind enough to personally escort you to where you were going. Thankfully it had happened during a slight lull in the activities so you didn’t feel quite so intrusive to the people around you.
There you were, front row, your heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. You had made it, which meant you needed to text Ilia in case he was still on his phone.
“I made it! Finally! I hope you’re not mad! I’m so sorry about being late!”
He messaged back a few minutes later, “I’m so glad! No, I’m not mad! Just glad you made it safely. I talked to someone who is working tonight and she said she would come get you at show’s end to bring you backstage to me so you can just wait for me before we go to dinner. I’ve gotta get lined up now. Ugh, I feel so much better knowing you’re here. I love you! See you soon!”
With a deep sigh, you let yourself relax. All you had to worry about was Ilia doing well but that was completely out of your hands.
-
The boy was a flirt; the definition of a tease.
That mesh shirt was going to be the death of you, but if that had to be the thing that took you out, you were honestly okay with that. It was such a relief to see him so comfortable on the ice again, back to his normal Ilia on-ice persona. No one could do it like him and you were just happy it hadn’t died back in Milan.
Your eyes had never left him, despite the amount of distractions in the show. He made it look effortless, always did, but tonight was something else entirely. It was like how he skated at home: like no one was watching. A hiccup here or there was no problem, and no reason to waste time on it. It was just Ilia and the music. Well, that was until he had spotted you, illuminated by one of the house lights as he rounded the stage at center ice.
The way he locked eyes with you; the way you both smiled at one another; the way he blew you that kiss. It wasn’t just the kiss, it was the smile, the wink, and the headtilt that made you feel like the only girl in the entire building. Despite being in a packed arena, you felt like his whole world. That simple gesture had your heart racing, but for other reasons than stress like earlier.
But as quick as that moment happened, it was gone. As selfish as you would want to be, he had a job to do and a show to continue. You had the rest of your lives to hopefully share a million of those kinds of moments together. You hoped that this was just the beginning.
𝓸r ── .✦ you love your boyfriend, flaws and all. you've always been his rock, a figure skater yourself who hasn't yet made her mark, but is known amongst the community to be a sweet girl. you like to sit beside him while he plays games late at night, sometimes with others, sometimes on live for his little community to see. but what no one expects is for the same girl to be on her knees in front of ilia, right under the very desk that this all takes place on.
⟢ 𝓻achel: i'm not gonna lie and say that i hadn't already thought of this before it was requested to me, because i did. like, shockingly soon after i posted the first ilia smut. so...that's something. anyway, hope you all enjoy!! happy reading :)
── tags below the cut .ᐟ
𝓬ontent: smut mdni, oral (m receiving), bj on stream (and then just through the mic) (and then privately), ilia whimpers, very subtle like hesitant "face fucking" for lack of a better term, cumming on tongue, yeah idk i wish that was me man
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁☦︎⋆. ݁˖𐙚 ˚𝜗𝜚˚⟡ ݁₊ .
figure skaters are supposed to be elegant. limbs extended just right, movements not too sharp, but not too soft, hair blowing in the artificial breeze with their beautifully-designed costumes. they're meant to carry themselves with poise, even in their worst moments, when the camera is fixed on them, and they cannot escape the watchful eye of the world.
you're the perfect example of that — sweet, soft-spoken, perfectly articulate when you speak to the camera. you've never displayed an ounce of negativity to the public, carrying yourself with the same elegance that other skaters have envied for years, with your kind smiles and friendly handshakes and gentleness on the ice that many hope will one day be olympic.
but really, what's more elegant than wrapping your pretty little mouth around your boyfriend's cock from beneath his desk?
nothing you've already done, that's for sure.
ilia swallows above you, his fingers pressing down a little too hard on the mouse and setting off his in-game firearm. "shit," he mumbles under his breath as he fends off a bot that he'd inadvertently set off with the shot.
his hand raises to cover the mic, muffling the half-noise he makes.
"what's the matter?" you ask innocently, kissing the tip and running your tongue along the underside until he shivers.
he laughs unamusedly, keeping his eyes on the screen and lifting a hand to adjust the headset until it only covers one ear. "don't get cocky," he warns with a lopsided grin and shifts in his chair, scooting forward to give you better access.
"but, am i?" you ask. your fingers wrap tighter around him, a trail of saliva dripping down the side of his cock as you slide your hand up and down at a tantalizingly slow pace. "what happened to streaming? i thought you were stronger than that."
he'd been on twitch for barely twenty minutes before you walked in. on a normal day, you'd visit after a shift at work and plop yourself onto his bed, scrolling through your phone while he played whatever on his computer. sometimes, he'd hop on a stream for the few fans he'd accumulated, and tonight was one of those nights.
but when you initially looked up from the phone, all you could focus on was how sexy ilia looked with his glasses on, hair brushed lazily behind his ears as he rambled on about how much he hated flips to one of the viewers. you gnawed at your bottom lip in contemplation, knowing full well that it was rather classless to drop to your knees and go to town while he innocently played video games and talked to fans.
you normally had self-control, but today, it must have taken a day off.
what are you doing? he mouthed when your fingers pulled his chair out, enough for you to sink between his desk and the wheels. his brows furrowed, and he huffed out a breath when your fingers grazed his sweatpants, slowly curling into the waistband to tug them down.
one thing led to another, and now, he's still in his fortnite party — just without the fans listening in.
and with his dick in your mouth.
"i'm not letting a bunch of young girls listen to that," ilia finally retorts as he leans into the chair, thighs tensing up when your lips kiss the head again, so featherlight that it barely feels real.
"pfft," you scoff, "as if you'd give up enough pride to make noise."
your hand works him with lazy strokes, tightening its grip with practiced precision, just the way you know he likes it. just to watch his jaw tense as he tries not to react.
ilia swallows thickly; you watch his adam's apple bob through thick lashes while your tongue slips out to wet your lips, glossing them over with the same slick dripping down his length.
you take the tip between your lips first, gently, just to let him feel the warmth your mouth provides. it's already swollen, sensitive under your touch as his fingers flex around the computer mouse.
"shots from up there," he mumbles to whoever he's duoed with — you hadn't bothered to ask earlier — and marks the location.
you, meanwhile, apply the smallest bit of suction, letting the tip of your tongue graze the head as it collects his taste on the buds. you hum, and the noise buzzes around him; a quiet, unsteady noise rises from the back of his throat that he masks with a cough.
satisfied, you sink further, taking another inch. grinning with malice when you feel him twitch between your lips. your free hand rests on his thigh — essentially bare from the way his shorts have ridden up — steadily rubbing back and forth over the thick expanse.
"god," he hums lowly, only loudly enough for your ears to catch.
you giggle innocently, parting from him with a slick noise as a thin string of saliva connects him to the corner of your lip. your legs spread further on the cold hardwood, allowing you to maneuver yourself closer. ilia chooses not to acknowledge it, though he feels the press of your fingers into his thigh when your body scoots.
you confirm his suspicions by craning your neck and kissing him again, gingerly peppering a trail of pecks down to the base, where your nose bumps the tip of your finger, still wrapped snugly around his dick.
"mmm…" you moan sweetly, licking a lewd stripe along the side before aligning him with your lips again.
it isn't quiet anymore; wet noises slip into the air, no effort made to muffle them. an occasional slurp surfaces a little too loudly, ilia's muscles tense beneath you, he mumbles something under his breath in russian that neither you nor his duo understands.
his breath forces itself past parted lips, soon becoming frequent and heavy, loud enough that the person on the other end asks if something is wrong.
"no," he manages weakly, but his tone is anything but convincing. "i'm fine."
you sigh theatrically. lips tightened around his cock, cheeks hollowed out, hand tactfully stroking the small bit that is left exposed. drool coats your lips, glossing them over until it begins to slide down your chin and drip onto ilia's bare thigh, where your palm still resides firmly.
his muscles strain underneath the heat of your touch. you feel the tension everywhere — in the way his thigh constricts, his cock pulses between your lips as if it was never meant to be anywhere else but there.
and that's when you finally hear it.
ilia whimpers; full-on whines into the microphone for whoever is there to hear. he whispers a silent fuck before rotating the arm on his headset until it clicks and signals the mute.
"i thought you were too good for that?" as you lift with a quiet, wet popping noise. "seems not," you tut, sporting a pitiful frown that ilia finally acknowledges.
"jesus, okay," he grits, ripping the headset off his head and tossing it onto the desk, alongside the abandoned game he inevitably lost for the party — though it's the last thing on his mind, right now.
a satisfied grin tugs at your lips, and ilia shuffles closer, the weight of him heavy in your palm. you take him into your mouth again, leaving behind the taunting nature, as you've finally gotten what you wanted, and you honestly don't want to give that up. the way his eyes are suddenly so laser-focused on you, gaze dripping with intensity, watching his cock disappear into that perfect mouth of yours…yeah, you'd be a fool to keep pushing, to make him say forget it and return to the computer screen.
"mmph," your voice a weak, muffled whine when he brushes the back of your throat. at the noise, ilia's hand cards through your hair, brushing it away until he grips it at the back of your head.
he doesn't push; just adds enough pressure for you to know he's there. tugs a little because he's enjoying it.
a bead of precum slips into your throat, and you swallow it down. ilia smiles — faintly, but enough to notice. the hand on his thigh keeps you stable, delivering a harsh squeeze to the bare skin when his hips shift just slightly to meet your mouth. just enough to fit it all in, for your nose to nudge the area above. your throat to constrict around him as if to try to adjust.
"is this what you wanted?" ilia asks breathily, chest rising and falling as the features tighten on his face, nose scrunched with parted lips. the sight — albeit hindered as you look up through your lashes — is exactly what you've been wishing for. and god, if the fogged-up glasses and sweat-slick forehead and the moaning are anything to go by, you'd say you're doing a damn good job.
"mmmhm," you hum proudly in response, attempting a nod that gets quickly stifled by the cock stuffing your mouth. twitching when the edges of your teeth graze the sensitive skin.
which — as a matter of fact — means he's close; painfully close. fingers tangling your hair into a knot, hips fighting the urge to take matters into their own hands.
his head falls back when you let enough of him slip out to swirl your tongue around the expanse of the head, a coat of slick saliva glistening under the computer's dim light.
muffled noises spew from the discarded headphones on the desk, barely audible, yet you manage to make out a confused are you there? coming from the other end. ilia, who clearly isn't amused, reaches over and turns the tower off, watching the screen go black. the blue lights strung along the ceiling settle between you to illuminate your face instead, the new hue somehow making the sight before him even hotter.
"трахать," a throaty rasp that makes heat bloom between your thighs, core pulsing at the sharp edge in his tone. "sit back."
you follow his order, sitting on your heels as his hand carefully tugs your head back, while the other rises to pull himself free. his palm wraps around his cock, a few slow and uncalculated strokes as he looks down at you, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head as if to mimic a doctor telling you to stick your tongue out.
slowly, yet impatiently, your tongue slips between your parted lips, holding still as you wait for him to move. the head falls flat on the tip of your tongue, sweet and swollen and throbbing with the need for the release he's been teetering on the edge of since he'd abruptly ended his livestream. and when you curl your tongue upward to brush just the right spot, you feel it.
careful spurts of warm, creamy-white liquid falling onto your taste buds. angled perfectly to land in the center, while his fingers flex at the back of your head. a low whimper falls from his lips that he makes no effort to suppress, weak and needy and perfect. his hair falls so perfectly in his face, all contorted with tension, and you moan under his touch, into the thick air between you.
relief bleeds into his features as he comes down from the high, cock softening in his palm, the salty-sweet warmth gathered onto your tongue like a reward. he watches your lips press together, your throat bob when you swallow him down without hesitation, leaving behind only a small, satisfied hum that resonates in his stomach.
your palm maintains its comfortable position on ilia's thigh, offering comfort as you run it back and forth sweetly along the smooth expanse, manicured fingers gently scratching his skin.
"taste perfect, illie," you whisper, smiling as ilia leans forward and slides his hand beneath your jaw. presses a kiss to your lips that lets him taste himself on your tongue, pulling away slowly enough to watch your bottom lip snap back into place.
"play nice next time," he teases, and you giggle, nudging the side of his knee with your elbow. "or i might just ignore you."
"mm, but a dork like you could never resist this," you retort with narrowed eyes, lifting your fingers to toy with the edge of his glasses.
"yeah…maybe."
but you both know that you're right.
because ilia is obsessed with the way you blow him; he just refuses to admit it.
